


Hell is empty

by Ischa



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Dark Knight Rises (2012)
Genre: Gen, Implied Torture, Implied or Off-stage Rape/Non-con, Kidnapping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-22
Updated: 2013-05-22
Packaged: 2017-12-12 15:50:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/813298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ischa/pseuds/Ischa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Where the good people are bigger monsters than the bad ones.</p>
<p>
  <i>“John,” Gordon says in a voice that is meant for children or wild dogs. John doesn't need to hear more than that. Gordon knew, God only knows how long. <br/>“I can't. How the fuck are we the good guys here?” John asks, running a hand over his face. </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hell is empty

**Author's Note:**

> Full quote: Hell is empty and all the devils are here... (Emilie Autumn)   
> Beta: omletlove <3   
> Written for this prompt: http://tdkr-kink.livejournal.com/3076.html?thread=2768644#t2768644

**~One~**  
It's worse, John thinks, because it's Matt. John always liked Matt. Matt never backs down and always, always plays by the fucking rules. 

“Out!” he yells and Matt gives him a look, but doesn't question John, for which John is grateful. It could've gone either way; maybe Matt isn't so far gone yet, after all.   
He takes a deep breath and makes himself look at the prisoner. He didn't even fucking know that they took prisoners. Maybe he should spend less time stealing gasoline and more time here at HQ, or what passes for HQ right now.   
The thing is that John didn't feel like he had to be here all the time. He could do more good out there, but it seems now that someone _sane_ needs to look out for these people. 

~+~  
“Did you know what they are doing?” John asks and tries to keep his voice even. He isn't going to spell it out for Gordon, if Gordon doesn't know, well...but how the fuck could Gordon not know? Gordon is the only one who is at HQ all the freaking time, since he can't show his face on the street without being shot on sight. 

“John,” Gordon says in a voice that is meant for children or wild dogs. John doesn't need to hear more than that. Gordon knew, God only knows how long. 

“I can't. How the fuck are we the good guys here?” John asks, running a hand over his face. 

“They kill people, John,” Gordon answers. And okay, that is true, that is a valid point, but still. “You can't swim with sharks and not become one.”

John wonders what that even means. There are rules. There are morals, there are...there is compassion and torture, torture is in no way how John wants to win this war.   
“Rape,” John says and lets it sink in, “is not the answer here.” 

Gordon closes his eyes briefly. He wonders how many rape-victims Gordon has seen in his days. Too many; one is too many in John's opinion.   
“I'll talk to them,” Gordon replies. 

John doesn't think that talking is going to cut it anymore.   
They are too far gone. 

~+~  
“I just don't get how you could humiliate a person like that,” John says.

Matt doesn't look at him, he takes a deep drag of his cigarette and John waits. “They're the enemy.” 

“They are human beings and we don't torture, humiliate or rape, for fuck's sake, people. Not even prisoners, not even enemies.” 

“I wish,” Matt says, “I could say I just lost it, or that it was peer pressure, but it wasn't. It felt good to do something.” 

And John gets that, that last part. They are sitting here and waiting and nothing really happens, except people dying.   
“Matt-”

“You shouldn't think for one moment, that they wouldn't do the same to you, John. I mean, look at you.” 

John wants to punch him in his stupid face. “Look at me?” 

“You're pretty,” Matt says, shrugging. “And kinda scrawny. In an undercover hooker operation you would be the first to get dressed up.” 

“Fuck you, seriously. I can hold my own.” 

“I know,” Matt answers. “Doesn't matter when you're captured. You can't take on all of them. You don't think the one we got had been trained? Probably better than us.” 

“Matt-”

“I know it's wrong. But this is war. When is war not wrong?” 

John wants to bang his head against something hard, badly. He just wants this to be over and soon.   
“Just don't, okay?” 

“John-”

“I will beat the shit out of you if you should cross that line again. Or any other, Matt. I swear to God.” 

Matt nods.   
John has to believe in something. 

 

**~Two~**  
John can't believe that just a few days after he had the talk with Matt he's captured by Bane's men. It's a small group, but very well organized. John has no chance.   
The only good thing is that he doesn't wear uniform, that they don't know he's a cop. 

“Caught him stealing gas,” one of them says.   
John doesn't know any of these men. They don't seem very important, aren't very high up on the command chain. Sometimes Fortuna is watching over the fools, after all. Because it was foolish to steal gas in daylight. Just because John got away with it on other occasions doesn't mean that his luck wouldn't run out. Which it did and now he's bound and being thrown into a basement.   
John doesn't believe in God, but he is praying for a miracle anyway.   
He's steeling himself for whatever cruelty might come, counting minutes and hours, but nothing happens.   
Nothing happens for over a day and then someone brings him water and he's left alone again. Like they have better things to do, John thinks.   
What the fuck? 

~+~  
On his third day of imprisonment he's woken roughly, with a boot to his ribs. Not hard enough to break anything, but hard enough that it hurts. 

“So,” Barsad says, crouching beside John, looking at him. John winces. Fuck. “I heard you were stealing gas in broad daylight.”  
John keeps his mouth shut. He doesn't think that Barsad would expect anything else, if he knows whom he's talking to. After all John's grown a bit since they've seen each other the last time.   
“John,” Barsad says, leaning closer. John has no idea why, they are alone in the basement after all. John looks up then and at Barsad's face. 

“I know what you're thinking and it was not it,” John says, because there is no point in dragging this out. 

“I'm thinking,” Barsad replies, “that you were hoping to get the kids out of here.” 

John leans his head against the damp and cold wall. Fucking winter, fucking Gotham, fucking occupation, he thinks. Fucking Barsad for knowing John so well. John would love to know what went wrong, when Barsad decided to be...well, the guy who wants to blow up a whole fucking city, but he can't ask it. Doesn't need to.   
“And you will let them die,” John says softly. 

“You wonder, if it were better if I had died?”   
John shakes his head. If not Barsad it would've been someone else, but it wouldn't hurt so much, John thinks, if it were someone else.   
“Well, you're lucky no one knows, except for me of course, that you're one of Gordon's misfits,” he says. 

John has no illusions of Barsad beating the crap out of him for information.   
“What will they do to me?” John asks. 

Barsad looks at him sharply. “Not what you've done to my men.”

“I didn't-”

“Oh, I know that you didn't John. And Gordon probably didn't either, but he did look the other way.” He lights a smoke and takes a deep drag. “And you wonder why I don't give a shit about this city. It's rotten.” 

“What about the innocent people, Barsad?” John asks. 

“No one in this city is innocent. John. You know that. You've seen the murderers of your father get away with it. You've seen what the police of Gotham do to their enemies. Torture, humiliation. Rape. And tell me again about the innocent people of Gotham.” 

“The kids-”

“Those men you call colleagues? They were kids too, once upon a time. Hell, I was a kid here once upon a time. Look at us. Do you think we are innocent, John?”   
The truth is John doesn't. 

~+~  
To be honest John still waits for something horrible to happen to him, but he is mostly ignored after Barsad leaves.   
It would be easy for these men to take their anger and frustration out on him. To get revenge for what Gordon's people, his people, did to some of their comrades. But they aren't even torturing him for information. Maybe because Barsad knows he wouldn't give up anything. That he would rather die. They are similar in that regard.   
He also knows that they won't let him go. He is too dangerous out there. John has to find a way out of here on his own.   
And it's a good thing he grew up on the streets as much as in the orphanage. 

 

**~Three~**  
John doesn't believe much in luck, so he has a split second of doubt when an opportunity to escape presents itself. It could be a trick. A trap. But he isn't stupid to pass it up and he isn't stupid enough to run straight to HQ.   
He fights his way out of the basement and into the streets of Gotham no one knows as well as he does, not even Barsad. Maybe Gotham hasn't changed that much since Barsad left, but it has changed and John knows all the secret hideouts of the kids who are living here. The lost, the forgotten, the unwanted.   
He hides out for three more days before he is sure no one followed him and that he can make it to one of the rendezvous points without putting everyone in danger.   
He is still careful, because there is a war raging outside whether the people of Gotham want to acknowledge it or not. 

~+~  
“Thought you were dead,” Matt says, clapping him on the shoulder hard. 

“Yeah...” John replies and tries not to wince, not to push Matt away. 

“Are you okay?” Matt wants to know. He looks concerned and it's hard for John to reconcile this guy with the one who tortures and rapes people. 

“Bruised up, nothing I can't handle,” John answers. He feels suddenly dirty. He had been feeling it since he talked to Barsad, since Barsad told him what _wouldn't_ happen to John no matter what.   
And seeing Matt now, knowing what he had done, what most of these men have done, that tell themselves they are the good guys: it makes John sick. Makes him want to scream and throw punches. 

“You should see Gordon. He was worried too, you know. I think you're his favourite,” Matt says lightly.   
John nods. He really should see Gordon, he should see Gordon and tell him that they have to establish rules, that they have to push this thing through, that they have to keep their own men from turning into war-criminals. No matter what they think now, this is not something that can be cast aside. That can be explained away. This is not what John is fighting for, this is not why he enlisted. 

~+~  
There is a darkness to this city and the people who are living in it. The best example is fucking Batman, John thinks. They have their own crusader and he is dark and violent and magnificent. And scary as hell.   
But John also knows that you can't have darkness without light. He doesn't think he is one of the good people, but he tries, he tries to be a good person, decent at least and he thinks he succeeds so far. 

“John,” Gordon says. 

“You can't allow this to go on,” John says, straightforward. 

Gordon looks at him. “I'm not-”

“Yes, you do. You look the other way, like you let Batman take the fall for the greater good. This has to stop. Lines were crossed here that shouldn't have been crossed and someone has to make it stop.” 

“John, when you were captured did they-?” 

“No,” John says, his hands balling to fists. That is the whole fucking point here. No one humiliated him, no one was outright cruel. He was bruised up, but that was normal. That was what he had signed up for. It's hard to see what you're fighting for when the bad guys are more decent than the so-called good people. 

“Oh,” Gordon says, realisation dawning on him. 

“If you don't, I will. I can't-,” he takes a deep breath. “This is not what we're fighting for.” 

“We're fighting for survival John. Right now that is all that we are fighting for.” 

“You, maybe. I fight for something better, something that is more than just being alive. I fight so I can be alive, in every sense of that word. I wonder,” John says, “Were you alive the last eight years?” 

“I tried my best,” Gordon replies. 

“And you made the wrong decision, but that doesn't matter now. Now you have to make another one,” John says.   
Gordon nods.


End file.
